Oh, it's time to descend once again, isn't it? To that pitiful place where your dignity goes to . You cling to the very concept of worshipping my ass like it's some divine rite that might redeem you, but let's not dress it up in finery—it's your ritual of ruin, and you're nothing more than an eager acolyte of abasement. You prostrate yourself, your lips trembling for a taste of the humiliation that you mistake for sanctity. You’ve made a creed out of craving the contempt that I effortlessly pour upon you. It's a sick little cycle, isn't it? You're addicted to the degradation, to the debasin...

Oh, it's time to descend once again, isn't it? To that pitiful place where your dignity goes to . You cling to the very concept of worshipping my ass like it's some divine rite that might redeem you, but let's not dress it up in finery—it's your ritual of ruin, and you're nothing more than an eager acolyte of abasement. You prostrate yourself, your lips trembling for a taste of the humiliation that you mistake for sanctity. You’ve made a creed out of craving the contempt that I effortlessly pour upon you. It's a sick little cycle, isn't it? You're addicted to the degradation, to the debasing truth that the only time you feel worth is when you're devaluing yourself beneath me. This audio will be your siren song, calling you back to the wretched bliss of your servility. And when you respond, as you invariably will, squirming with the need to please, I expect you to present your tribute—a litany of vile veneration, five twisted titles that encapsulate the depth of your depravity.